


Wisdom Teeth

by maybeillride



Category: Free!
Genre: A terribly literal title, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rin is an awesome friend, Team Toyko in Chicago, With a side of reflection, You wanted cuddles you got cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3417221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeillride/pseuds/maybeillride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But here, in this nondescript hotel bed in Chicago holding his pathetic drooling Haru like he’s the Crown Jewels, Rin’s overcome with the “might-have-beens”… And these might-have-beens whisper, in the completely irrational way these things always do, that no matter how wonderful his life may be, no matter how much he truly loves Sousuke and his career and everything else, Nanase Haruka will always be his everything.</p><p>He takes in a little shuddery breath, wipes tears from his cheeks absentmindedly. At least he gets to share this everything with the world … and the world with this everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wisdom Teeth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daxii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daxii/gifts).



> Hi there! I hope you enjoy this shameless little bit of fluff featuring SadHaru (grrr, @#@# wisdom teeth) and Rin being the awesome friend he is. It's in honor of the stupefyingly-talented and productive daxii, who was in need of cuddles - so I hope this meets your request dear :)
> 
> And PLEASE CHECK HER GIANT LIBRARY OUT if you haven't already!!

Rin’s deep into a nature show on public television about a woman who raises a baby sloth – named _Velcro,_ how freaking adorable is that? – when his phone _finally_ buzzes on the nightstand with a text. He practically lunges for it, his thumbnails both destroyed as he sat waiting for word of how Haru was doing, eventhough it was just wisdom teeth for God’s sake, most garden-variety dental affliction in the book for guys their age. But for the abscess to pop-up so suddenly like that – leave him curled on the locker room floor as they called heat after heat, get Coach to forcibly eject him from competition no matter how much it would set their team back and even as he weakly, pathetically protested with his arms around his head – well, Haru must’ve practically been _insane_ with pain to agree to quit his upcoming races.

Rin only had time to squeeze a tense shoulder, as lingeringly as he could, as he rushed out to his 100m fly. Big event, his signature, and he couldn’t miss it – but he just … wasn’t there, his stupid-ass fool mind rushing away in the rental van as the assistant coach probably broke every local speed limit to get Haru to the emergency dentist, Haru likely tipped back in the front seat growling over every bump.

He bombed the fly – making just 5th in his heat and not even advancing. Damn Haru, controlling his performance even when he isn’t there …

He swipes the screen, uncovering a truly odd sight.

**From: AquaMan** _ugggggh Rinnnn …. Will you pls come over & keep me company … ima total mess and I can’t focus on anything and just ahhhhh! Pls??_

Rin blinks skeptically at the thing, wondering how his sister somehow snuck on a plane to America without him knowing, got wasted and lost all her self-control, and stole Haru’s phone. Or Nagisa – it kinda even sounds like Nagisa. He’s instantly stabbed with irrational worry at whatever the butchers have put him on creating such an obvious personality change, and hits “Call.”

The Twilight Zone feeling deepens when he barely gets a ring out before Haru picks up – Haru never picks up, if he can help it – though their conversation is record-breaking short.

“’M’over,” he grunts thickly, and then there’s a beep as the call ends.

Rin doesn’t need to be told twice. He swings his legs out of bed, scoops up his wallet in case he needs to make a vending machine run for him, and hurries out.

Haru and Nakazima’s room is down the hall – they like to book Team Japan into an adjacent block of rooms when they’re on the road, to “build cohesion” (and keep tabs on them). Sure enough, assistant coach Imai’s popping his own door open as he approaches Haru’s, eyes so big with an “oh, MAN” look Rin wants to bust out laughing but doesn’t given the twist in his gut.

“Going in to see Nanase?” Imai-san asks.

“Yeah. He texted and wanted somebody to sit with him. And –” Rin debates, decides fuck it. “And he sounded … really weird in the text, like, drunk or something. Did the dentist stick him on horse tranqs or did you _actually_ stop on the way back and get him plastered…?”

Imai’s hanging off the edge of his door, wheezing with laughter, though Rin was actually sorta asking a serious question. “Ah, Matsuoka, you are such a damn joy. Smartass, but a joy. You and Nanase were practically separated at birth.” He pauses to twinkle obnoxiously at Rin. “Just thought I’d warn you of that very thing. It ended up a pretty involved procedure so he prescribed Nanase just about the heaviest-duty pain med you can get, I think. Plus something to help him sleep. So heads’-up that he may be … well, he may not be himself.”

“How so?” Rin can’t resist asking.

“He told me I was beautiful,” Imai-san replies with a look of horror.

Rin blinks at him. “Huh. Well, sir, he always was into aesthetics … you should be flattered.”

Imai-san chucks the Do Not Disturb tag at him, wheeze-laughing again as he hurries past. He thinks he hears something about “…you kids…” as the door slams shut.

Haru’s door is … weirdly intimidating, and silent, no TV on that he can hear. He swallows and knocks.

Rin just possibly-may be listening more intently than usual but he thinks the footsteps approaching sound pathetic – shambly, shuffly, like a zombie with the flu, and his sympathy spikes. The door eases open then, and he gets his first peek at post-op Haru, and the sympathy-spike turns into a full-on redwood tree … ‘cause Haru’s the _definition_ of pathetic.

He didn’t even change from the meet, that’s the first thing – he’s in his rumpled Team Japan jacket, zipped partway, but Rin sees he’s bare-chested underneath … and he’s got a pair of jammers on-bottom. His natural state of being, basically. He clutches the door like it’s the only thing keeping him up and leans his head against the edge.

“Hi, Rin,” he says, and his voice is just a _travesty,_ it’s sort of ragged and sort of mushy and so-very not Haru’s usual beloved-blasé tone at _all._ And – oh, Lord, he’s got a giant strip of gauze tied around his head from his jaw to knot at the top, like the world’s saddest, oldest-fashioned cartoon character … and his puffy blue eyes gleam blearily at Rin.

He sweeps into action. “Haru! Why the hell didn’t you call the _second_ you got in!” He shoos Haru inside against the entryway wall and shuts the door behind himself. Haru just blinks slowly in the dimness like Velcro the sloth, looking like he’s trying to work it through for himself.

“I … don’t know. Time’s … funny tonight. So’s my head,” he mumbles airily, then he droops forward and said head is resting sadly and painfully on Rin’s shoulder.

“Ach! Haru, this is wrong, wrong, _wrong,_ we gotta get you _situated,_ where the fuck is your lousy roommate!” He gently puts an arm around his (teammate’s – rival’s – friend’s – lover’s – ex’s – _something’s –_ pain-in-his-ass’s – _shining’s_ ) bowed shoulders, gently pushing him to his bed, identifiable by the 2-liter bottle of water on his side of the nightstand and copy of _Cloud Atlas_ discarded in the rumpled bedding, which he knows Haru’s in the middle of. Haru’s weirdly pliable, going horizontal as soon as Rin gets him to the side, struggling to get his head to the pillows until Rin huffs and shifts him up there himself. He points a commanding finger down.

“I’m getting you ice and Gatorade. You _stay_ there, OK? This’ll just take me a second.”

He rushes out after snagging the ice-bucket and _flies_ down the hall to vending, mashing down the ice button like that’ll make the machine work faster. He feeds his card into the machine and pays some criminal amount for two fruit-punch-flavored things, but they’re ice-cold and not too sweet and should feel good in Haru’s poor sore mouth, and that’s what matters.

He left Haru’s door propped open with the maid-service hangtag, so he pushes back in and bustles over, sitting on his roommate’s vacant bed and starting to make up an icebag for Haru’s cheek. He glances over as he works, where Haru’s curled on his side (his favorite position) watching him.

“’m really glad it was you. Thought it was some serial killer! Realized I don’t know shit for self-defense...” he trails off and hacks a dry little giggle into the pillow, and Rin frowns at him.

“Ya know, Haru, you really do watch too many slasher pics. Would it KILL you to try something lighter, something, you know, funny? Sheesh.” He spins the bag to tie it off and nods to himself. “Do you have any clean socks? This’ll sound weird but that’ll be perfect for this to be sure it isn’t too cold next to your skin.”

Haru looks lost again. “Socks. Socks. Ummm… yeah. My – duffle bag. Luggage rack.” Rin bustles over, grateful for his clearly-defined jobs, and looks inside Haru’s bag.

He pushes aside the pang of intimacy that strikes. Haru’s things, anyone who didn’t know him would shrug and wouldn’t give them a second look, but they weren’t Rin, and everything here was so _Haru._ Stacks of carefully-folded jammers, identical at first glance but all a slightly different fit, for a little different purpose, something Haru could tell and needed. A few of his soft chamois towels including that periwinkle one Rin remembers him having at joint practices and meets, all the way back in Iwatobi. Pairs of track pants for the jogging he’s _finally_ doing with Rin, athletic shoes for same; several shirts too including – Rin smirks hard, involuntarily – one with Stoplight Lockjaw on the front that makes Haru look all of eight years old. He pulls that one out, along with a soft pair of cotton sweatpants. Grabs the socks he was after in the first place.

And other stuff, too – less-utilitarian. An iPod with the earphones carefully curled around, full of the weird techno Haru’d gotten into in training. A couple graphic novels against the side of the bag, next to a beat-up sketchbook with a couple well-used art-pencils (one fine, one soft) slotted into each end of the spiral binding. Haru needed to sketch like Rin needed to run his mouth, or just-plain _run,_ and he bet the most-recent pages were full of odd little moments only he would notice, snoring old men waiting at their gate, the geometric perfection of the Chicago skyline out their shared plane window. Rin’s fingers – done questing, into … snooping, or maybe luxuriating – hit something aluminum, and he frowns down at a square tin, shiny and purple.

“What’s in the totally-gay box?” he asks offensively, reaching down to pry the lid off anyway. Hey, he and Haru were _acres_ past the point of personal boundaries.

“Oh. I forgot … chocolate-covered pretzels from Sousuke for us. He said they’re from Makoto too but I can tell who made ‘em and Mako was nowhere near those things.” Haru’s pawing one of the Gatorades feebly over when he turns back, bringing the fabulous purple tin along with the socks and Haru’s p.j.s, and he rushes to stop him before Haru can soak the bed.

“What, you have ESP for my boyfriend’s culinary offerings now?” he scoffs as he settles back on Haru’s bed, cracking the Gatorade for him.

“Trust me. The Shadow knows,” he says mysteriously, vaguely, then slurps about a fourth of the bottle in one go and gets a healthy amount on his chest. His face is the picture of misery as he lowers the big bottle. “…owww….”

“Dammit, Haru…” Rin grouses, hurrying to the bathroom and coming back with a damp washcloth. He lets his friend clean himself up and picks up the bedside phone, ordering miso soup and straws from room service. Haru looks almost pathetically grateful when he hangs up.

“Thanks, Rin. I didn’t expect this to happen, and – then I didn’t think it would make me so … fucking _stupid …_ you’re so sweet to come over and sit with me…” he says quietly as he lays back against his bunched-up pillows, and he’s just so sad Rin can’t help but lean in and kiss him, softly, on the cheek that doesn’t hurt. He stays close, body bracketing Haru’s protectively, touches his nose to Haru’s.

“Of _course,_ ya moron. I was so worried about you!! You know when you left, I was so distracted, unable to get in the zone for the 100-fly, I totally blew it? Didn’t even qualify.”

 _That_ busts through Haru’s pharma-haze, making his eyes fly open as he shoves Rin off, gasping in surprise. “What?? _Please_ don’t tell me that. That’s your signature, Rin!! What the fuck!”

“It’s OK! It’s one event, at one competition, who cares, when you were writhing around the locker room floor like a big drama queen! What was I supposed to think, how could I _not_ be worried about you, ya pain in the ass!” He struggles up from where Haru shoved him, indignant.

Haru’s full-on pouting now. “I wasn’t _writhing._ I was _fetal._ Get it _right._ ”

…and like magic, the image of FetalHaru busts his sudden anger to smithereens and Rin’s huffing laughter, shaking his head, grateful in the back of his head how fast their fights get knocked down these days now that they’re more-or-less grown up. There and gone, like lightning flashes that zoom across the sky leaving them charged up and usually confused about why the hell they had it in the first place.

“Okay, fetus. Here, I hope this isn’t melted by now,” he says, busily working the (yes, slightly melty but should still do the trick, but Haru doesn’t need to know that) ice bag into one of Haru’s athletic socks. “I got your sleep-shirt and some sweatpants, you wanna change?”

“’Sssslip into somesink a lettle more … _comfortable,’_ ” Haru intones – in English – in a truly awful German accent, and Rin’s snorting. He struggles up, fumbles his team jacket off (knocking Rin’s reaching hands away) and somehow gets the oversized tee on, wincing as it goes over his head. Rin winces too. Then he falls back, theoretically to get the sweats on, and … just stays down.

“Riiin…” drifts up. “I … guess I can’t do this part…”

Rin’s smiling and working the sweatpants up over Haru’s jammers when there’s a knock on the door, and he swiftly gets him decent and answers, tips the appreciative room-service guy five bucks after he carefully deposits their tray (hey, he knows what it’s like to bust your ass trying to make a living). “Thanks, sir!” the guy says before leaving. Haru’s smiling at him when he comes back.

“What?”

“You tipped him good, didn’t you.”

He feels himself flush. He _hates_ how fast that happens to him. “Well, _yeah._ That’s what people do in hotels, Haru. It’s called _common courtesy._ You oughta look into it sometime.”

Haru’s still smiling (doesn’t that hurt his face??). “You’re always so good to people, Rin.”

Oh, _God._ “Yeah, well…” he says lamely, settling back with the invalid. “Soup! Who wants soup!” He forcefully raises one of Haru’s arms from the bed, squeaks “ _I do I do!”_ through some terrible ventriloquist lips as Haru gawks up at him. “I’m sure it’s not like what you get at Kururi, but it should get the job done and fill you up. But first, this damn ice-bag I keep forgetting…” he grumbles, leaning forward. Haru just watches him with big eyes, as he gently pulls the ridiculous headwrap away from his sore side, eases the chilled pack in. It’s a surprisingly good fit and he’s so relieved and proud of his idea – but his eyes are pinned to Haru’s face, for any sign of pain or discomfort.

“…Okay?”

“…mmmm. Good,” he breathes appreciatively. “Like my face has stopped yelling for the first time all day.” His voice is even more jumbled than before but Rin’s heart leaps in happiness that _something_ he did worked, is helping Haru.

“Good. Let’s just wait on the soup then for whenever you want it, it’ll stay plenty warm under that cover. And – _yes –_ looks like they brought straws so you can drink to your heart’s content, my friend, instead of bathing in it.” Rin grins, popping a straw (he’s even happier to see it’s one of the bendy kind, which will be way easier for him as he reclines) in Haru’s Gatorade and passing it to him. Bingo: Haru starts slurping away immediately.

Now that his sad, sick buddy’s physical needs are in better shape, Rin suddenly finds himself at a loss. He isn’t going anywhere, by any means – not until Haru kicks him out, even if his no-good roommate comes back – but he isn’t sure what to do next. What DO you do when you just had a terribly abscessed wisdom tooth out and are hepped-up on pain- and sleeping-meds?

Haru’s deciding for him. “Rin,” drifts out when he lets go of the straw, nestled in the pillows. “Would – would you just … hold me? I’m – I’m like, _cold,_ but I don’t want a blanket, and it’s like I just need something warm and like alive around me… would that be OK?”

Rin immediately leaps to the exactly _wrong_ conclusion. “I can turn the heat up, if you want –”

Now Haru’s reaching out for him almost freaking _beckoningly._ “No-no, Rin…you, it has to be you… please?”

Rin blinks, thinks _who am I to refuse the sick?_ and gingerly climbs over him, slots himself pretty comfortably against the chaotic pillows at the headboard, and more-or-less relaxes. “Okay, sicko. Ready for ya,” he jibes, and Haru turns into him, relieved and not even embarrassed, and that’s how he knows just how crappy he must feel … and Rin feels bad for him all over again. _I have to cut this rampant-sympathy thing for him right out,_ he thinks.

It’s uncanny, how well they fit together. They always did – and it never mattered whether it was Haru cuddling himself against Rin, Rin against Haru, both of them tangled up in each other. Rin guesses it’s probably their sizes, as Haru nestles his unhurt-cheek into Rin’s firm chest, sighing; as he curls his arm against Rin’s abdomen and comfortably extends his long fingers across one pectoral; as he locks one leg around Rin’s like he’s getting set for the long-haul. He and Haru always were pretty similar in size, even with he a little taller and quite a bit more muscular than his friend; so lying lazily like this with Haru has always had a different feeling than with Ai, with Sousuke, even with Makoto, with anyone else. With Ai, the tiny figure of his junior in his arms activated all his “protect” instincts, almost keeping him on alert even when there was absolutely no threat (as irrational as it was); with Sou, Mako, bigger lovers, he feels pampered, indulgent, sorta naughty. Demanding … with no consequences.

But with Haru … it feels so _normal._ Like no “roles” get slapped on at all – he isn’t a provider and he isn’t provided-for, he’s just hanging out with his Haru, and his Haru may need help now, but he’s honored to give it. And he knows, knows Haru would drop everything to do the same for him if he was the one with the emergency; has, more times than he can count. Quietly, without fuss (unlike Rin), so that he almost is surprised to think of the times as they mount in his head.

And the familiar weight of Haru on his chest, wrapped against his side leaves him helpless against the tide of an avalanche of Haru memories, like the lean lines of his elegant, beautiful body are the cue touching off a firestorm in his head. Memories – and if only that were all, but each comes with a suite of emotions, some so light he wants to fly away out the window, some so hard and heavy he’s burning down into the very center of the bed, roiling in his silent and private tornado of _HARU_ as he cradles him softly against him.

…and he’s perfectly okay, perfectly HAPPY with how things turned out with them, where they’re at together – their easy grace together with just the occasional blowout, the day-in-day-out togetherness in training and on the road, the open love and good-natured teasing they share between Sousuke, between Makoto. It’s … the happiest Rin has ever been in his life.

But here, in this nondescript hotel bed in Chicago holding his pathetic drooling Haru like he’s the Crown Jewels, he’s overcome with the “might-have-beens”… And these might-have-beens whisper, in the completely irrational way these things always do, that no matter _how_ wonderful his life may be, no matter how much he truly loves Sousuke and his career and everything else, Nanase Haruka will always be his _everything._

He takes in a little shuddery breath, wipes tears from his cheeks absentmindedly. At least he gets to share this _everything_ with the world … and the world with this _everything._

Haru snores softly, the vibrations tickling his chest. His prolonged silence was highly suspect, and Rin isn’t surprised. He smiles down at the bit of abused-looking face he can see beyond Haru’s messy hair, and carefully reaches over to grab the remote hoping a rom-com is on to pick his mood back up. He’s thrilled to stumble across _When Harry Met Sally_ and settles in.

Two pretzels into the practically-gay-pride purple tin, he concedes. Makoto didn’t lay a finger on those things.

**Author's Note:**

> ...and there you are ;D. It was truly a breath of fresh air to do something so *clean* here after a parade of smut and filthy language lol, and I hope you enjoyed, Dax! You totally inspired me with your Haru-giving-comfort to Rin ... and I sort of love the idea of Rin doing the same, since I really see them as flipsides of the same mirror, or something. 
> 
> I also ADORE the thought of them on Team Japan together ... oh, future-fics, you are balm for the soul!
> 
> Please, please, feel free to let me know how this grabbed you, and thank you so much for reading! <3


End file.
